


it's only when i hit the ground

by razzbabie



Series: twilight but gay and not white [1]
Category: Twilight (Movies), Twilight Series - All Media Types, Twilight Series - Stephenie Meyer
Genre: Esme isn't white yall, F/M, Family Drama, Implied/Referenced Rape/Non-con, Infant Death, Native American Character(s), Original Character Death(s), Pre-Twilight, Suicide, Suicide Attempt, its part of a bigger series, nothing on screen but uhh, uhh welp. fuck im sorry.
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-01-28
Updated: 2019-01-31
Packaged: 2019-10-18 11:44:07
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings, Major Character Death, Rape/Non-Con
Chapters: 8
Words: 8,977
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/17580179
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/razzbabie/pseuds/razzbabie
Summary: Esme Anne Platt grew up near the town of Columbus Ohio in the early 20th century. Here is how she grew to be the heart of the Cullen Family, and more importantly, Carlisle Cullen.





	1. sometimes i wish for falling

**Author's Note:**

> well.. im sorry

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> hell yeah thank u rachel for ur help

When Esme was young, her mother used to tell her the story of how she and her father had fallen in love. She told it like it was a fairytale, with romantic yearning and grand gestures of adoration. Esme’s mother, Mary, was a dreamer, much like her daughter.

The story went something like, Mary was working as a washerwoman at an inn in Columbus, and caught the eye of a man moving west. Mary often said, “He fell in love with me the moment we met eyes, and he decided to stay.” Esme thought that the idea of her father, a wealthy entrepreneur heading west to build a home and family staying in a town he had not intended to for her mother, was the most beautiful thing in the world.

That was not how it happened, and she wouldn’t realize that for a long, long time.

Esme had three sisters, and two brothers. In order, they all were Michael, Elizabeth, Esme, Thomas, Florence, and Margaret. They weren’t very far apart in age, excluding a three year gap between Esme and Thomas, and often relied on one another. Esme wasn’t the eldest daughter, but she found herself trailing after her mother with each new baby that was born. Elizabeth hadn’t ever really liked the thought of babies. She preferred to sew herself beautiful new dresses with cloth Papa brought back from the city. Elizabeth took after their father in looks, and most people who had met her agreed that she was the prettiest of the three. Her hair was flaxen, and she had Mama’s cheekbones and proud nose, but Papa’s warm hazel eyes. Her skin was fair, and freckled easily, which Esme thought was rather flattering, even if it vexed Beth to no end.

Michael was tall, and broad shouldered. Esme thought that must come from her Mama’s Papa, because her Papa was softer around the middle. She thought he was very handsome regardless of his tummy. Michael had tanned skin, light enough to pass as a white man, and Mama’s raven hair and twinkling brown eyes. He was very handsome, and all of the girls in town swooned whenever Michael would throw a wink or a smile their way. Emse thought he would make a wonderful father, if he would only settle down. He was good with his numbers, and was set to take over the family supply store when Papa decided to retire.

Esme thought that out of all of them, she had to be the ugliest. She had her mother’s eyes and hair, but she did not have her mother’s tall, graceful form. She was short, and round, like her father. She had been, ever since she was little. But her Mama told her she was beautiful, so she let it be. It wasn’t good to argue with one’s parents.

Thomas was next, and Esme vividly remembered the birth. Her Mama had not screamed, or wailed, even though the doctor thought she might have. He came out as blond and fair as father, and would grow into a willowy boy who loved books and horses more than school and chores. Esme doted on him, as did Mama, but father was always angry with Thomas and his schemes. Esme thought that Thomas might grow up to be an inventor, or perhaps cure an awful disease. Papa thought Thomas should spend more time at the Store, learning to help Michael.

Florence came next, when Thomas was nearly a year old. She was a squalling red mess, and had a temper from the very beginning. Flo was constantly getting into trouble, dirtying her dresses, and bringing wild animals into the home. Esme adored Florence, and often found herself chasing after her little sister, laughing breathlessly.

Margaret was still new, and only a few years old. She had Mama’s hair, and Papa’s eyes, and the temper of a faun. Esme loved to hold her, and found herself imagining sometimes that she’d have a baby like little Maggie one day. It was something she held close to her, because she knew that Papa would have a hard time finding her a suitable match. She looked far too much like her Indian mother, and that made her lesser in the eyes of the town. It broke her heart a little, to think that she would never have a baby of her own. But Esme made do, and promised that wherever her life took her, she would build a family of her own.


	2. falling's not the problem

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> again thank u rachel,, i owe u my soul

It was early when she woke, and the sun had not yet risen. She could hear little Florence’s snores, and felt the soft warmth of Maggie by her side. Esme took a moment to bask in this, this closeness, that she craved so fiercely. Even though Esme knew her family had faults, (Papa’s wandering eyes, Michael’s flirtatiousness, Beth’s vanity, Flo’s temper) she loved her family. She rose from the small bed, and tucked Flo and Maggie closer together. She spent a moment wondering what a child of her own would look like, if she were lucky enough to have one.

Chores were simple, although time consuming. Thomas often weaseled his way out of anything he could, and that left Esme with the bulk of the work. Three years ago, Elizabeth had been married to the son of the town’s Sheriff, Franklin Davis. They’d moved off to a larger house that was closer to the city, and Esme missed her sister dearly. Franklin had seemed like an alright boy, who had absolutely worshiped the ground Beth walked on. Beth had everything she wanted. A big house, a husband who adored her, and a child on the way. Esme was excited to meet her new niece or nephew, and was counting the days til the whole family could ride into town and see the new baby.

Michael had moved out before Beth, but had yet to settle down and find a wife. Esme had a feeling it would be a while before that happened. Papa had respectfully yet sternly told Michael that none of his ‘shenanigans’ would be taking place under his roof, so Michael had moved into an apartment above the store, and was often seen frequenting the local saloons.

Mama was up soon after Esme, and she pressed a soft kiss to her daughter’s forehead. “Good morning, dearest. How did you sleep?”

Esme beamed, and began to regale her mother with the dreams she had the night before. Amazing tales of faraway lands with monsters and heroes, where beasts turned to men and women created love.

Mama laughed, and called Esme her little dreamer, and promised that if she was good and could finish her chores early she might tell Esme some of her stories from long ago. Esme took off, ready to rush through as many chores as possible, for she wanted to hear the tales of her mother’s people! Papa didn’t like it when Mama spoke about her old life, and would often tell her that the past wasn’t important now. But Esme knew her mother missed her own parents, and culture. She would never tell Esme what had separated her from her tribe, or speak of the years before she met Papa. It made her too sad.

As she left the house to care for the horses, she was drawn to the field behind their house by sounds of Florence yelling, and Thomas wailing.

“It’s not my fault! It isn’t!” Florence could probably be heard in the next county Esme thought. She sounded like she was on the verge of one of her famous tantrums.

Thomas was crying by the time Esme rushed over to the scene of the crime, and it took her a moment to wrangle both children into her arms. Thomas muffled his sniffles into her shoulder, and she rubbed his back while she kept Florence within reach. 

“Hush, love. What happened? Tell me what’s wrong, and I will fix it.” Florence scowled at the ground, her little face beet red and near tears. 

Thomas had caught his kite in a tree. Esme huffed, rolling her eyes. “How did you manage that, Thomas? It’s the only tree in the field!” She moved quickly to comfort her younger brother, even as exasperation rolled through her.

“I didn’t mean it! Flo was chasing me, we were playing tag!” His wide brown eyes looked up to her, tears already beginning to fall. Florence exclaimed her innocence, and Esme hushed them both.

“You must be more careful, dearest. You could have hurt yourself!” Esme wiped the tears from her brothers face, and brushed off her skirts determinedly. “You stay here, I’ll get it down.”

“But it’s so high up!” Thomas nearly wailed, “What if you get hurt?”

Esme took a moment to look at her younger brother, then she smiled at him wickedly.

“Do you remember Mama’s stories? Do you remember the Thunderbird? I shall call upon him to help me fly up high! Then I will get your kite back.” Esme ruffled her brothers hair as he stared at her in awe, and couldn’t help feeling a little bit pleased with herself.

“We have to make an offering!” Little Flo’s voice was stern, and it made Esme nearly giggle to see her little sister so serious.

“Of course we shall! When we go home, we shall put a plate of supper out for him.” Esme reassured Flo with a hug and a kiss on the top of her head, which she scowled at. Flo was of an age where such displays of affection were seen as too childish.

Esme gripped her skirts, and set on how to climb the damned tree. It had good sturdy branches near the bottom, but they thinned out considerably the higher they got. Esme told herself she’d just have to make do.

It didn’t take long to reach the kite, as Esme was no stranger to climbing trees. Her only problem was untangling the string from the branches. She worked quickly, her legs wound around the trunk to keep her steady as she battled with it. She wobbled, not quite used to the climbing trees this high, and heard twin gasps below her.

“It’s alright,” she called, “Nearly done!” With a final tug, the kite slipped free of the branches. She heard her siblings whooping and hollering, and laughed to herself. The only problem was, how to get it to the ground safely. Carefully, Esme began to wind the string around her fingers hoping she could grab the kite and carry it down. She had nearly reached the end, and was trying to pull the kite from some branches without tearing it, when she heard a great crack.

As she fell, she wondered if this was what it felt like to fly.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> hhggg car lyle.... soon...


	3. fell in your opinion

She woke in a haze. The air was heavy in her chest and her head spun. When she opened her eyes, she saw a blur of a man, broad shouldered with warm, dark skin. She shut her eyes, her head spinning, and felt a thrill run up her spine. This doctor, for that’s what he ad to be, adjusting splints on her shin, was a colored man. Esme wasn’t stupid, she knew that the world often was crueler to people with different skin tones, but that meant that this man had to be very smart, to have gone to school for medicine!

She peeked one eye open again, and a warm smile greeted her before she shut her eyes again. It wasn’t fair, she decided, that there should be a man so beautiful in the world. He was tall, and strong, his arms well muscled and his hands large, yet gentle. Her heart pounded in her chest, and she cursed herself for girlish fancies such as this.   
“Careful, now. You’ve taken quite the fall, Miss Platt.” It wasn’t fair, she thought. His voice was warm and sweet like the caramels they made in the candy shop on Main Street. She had vivid memories of pressing her nose to the window panes to watch the men pour the warm taffy like candy onto a marble table to cool. She could vividly remember the smell, how it had twisted her stomach and she’d been able to taste it, almost.

“Will she be alright?” Her mother’s voice shook her from her daydreams, and she turned to see her Mama sitting at her bedside.

“She’s going to be just fine. I gave her a little something for the pain, but the cast will be dry within the hour. I’ve left something in case the pain becomes worse, but take it sparingly.” The golden skinned doctor adjusted something near her knee, but Esme could barely feel it. She felt like she was floating. When she turned to share a smile with her mother, she noticed how haggard Mama looked.

“Thank you so much, Doctor Cullen. Truly, thank you.” Her Mama was near tears, and looked like she had been fretting over Esme for hours. Suddenly, Esme felt guilty. It was stupid of her to try to reach the kite, Papa could have bought a new one.

“Mama, I’m sorry.” Her mother turned, and Doctor Cullen hid a small smile. Even his smiles were golden, she thought. “Thomas was crying and I didn’t mean to fall, I swear it.” Her mother huffed, and came to Esme’s side.

“Of course you didn’t mean to fall, dearest. I’m only grateful you woke, and the damage was not so bad.” Her mother’s eyes were filled with unshed tears, and Esme knew her mother had been truly worried. She vowed to herself that she wouldn’t do anything as silly as climbing trees ever again.

“She will be bedridden for a long while, around a month or two. I’ll return every week or so to keep an eye on it, but she should be fine.” Doctor Cullen smiled at her mother, who seemed to melt in her seat with relief.

“You’ll be coming back?” Esme tried her best to keep the excitement out of her voice, but from the small quirk of the Doctor’s lips, she must have failed.

“I will, yes. To check the progress of the healing, Miss Platt.”

Esme sat up a little straighter, and lifted her chin. “Then I should like to know your name if we are to be acquainted for a while longer. Perhaps we shall become friends.” Her arms shook with the effort of holding herself up, but she kept her eyes on his.

Doctor Cullen smiled, and laughed softly. Mama tsked her for her boldness, as it wasn’t ladylike. “I’d like that very much, Miss Platt. My name is Carlisle Cullen. It is a pleasure to meet you.” He bowed, just a bit, like a prince from a fairytale.

“Then you must call me Esme. Carlisle.” She grinned at him, and basked in the warm rolling laughter that came from his belly.

“Esme. I’ll be seeing you soon. Good day, Esme, Misses Platt.” With that, Doctor Carlisle Cullen left the room, and Esme’s mother berated her for her boldness. But she didn’t care. He had looked forlorn, when she had first seen him. A lingering sadness around his eyes. Esme had always hated to see people sad, even as a little girl. So she had done her best to make him smile. Even for just a moment. And she had.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> hey uh,, rn they r just. friends,,, as esme is 16 and my carlisle is at least like,, 30 so. none a that nonsense.


	4. wish for the release

Father, Emse decided, was being pigheaded. It was a simple enough request, one that would better both her, and those in need. There was a dire need for schools in the west, and there, Esme knew, she could help. She had an affinity for children, after nearly raising Thomas, Florence, and Margaret. 

Thomas, with her help, had gotten a job illustrating advertisements in the paper. He was currently courting a beautiful young woman named Andrea, and Esme knew that they would be happy together. She thought that they would have beautiful children, as they were both gentle souls. 

Florence, despite her temper, had caught the eye of a cobbler’s son. She was yet too young to marry, but Esme knew that the boy would be good to her. When they were young, they played together often. 

And Margaret, sweet Maggie, was blooming into a beautiful young woman. She was genteel, and kind, and her smiles lit up any room. 

Esme had thought, upon helping her mother raise three children, for father had no hand in any of his children’s upbringings, she was ready to go west and make a life for herself. She had heard about the wildness of the great west, and had dreamed of carving out a little space for herself in that wilderness. She had always loved nature, and thought to see the beauty of the untamed West would be awesome to see. Unfortunately, her father had different ideas.

“The West is no place for a woman!” He’d bluster, his cheeks turning ruddy and spittle catching in his beard. “There are savages and lawless men, and no daughter of mine will ever be subjected to such things!” 

Esme grit her teeth, as her mother sat nearby donning some of Maggie’s socks. Mary Anne Platt gave no indication of having heard her husband’s bellowing. Esme thought of bringing up the fact that his lawful wife, who had been faithful and dutiful throughout the years, was one such ‘savage’. But she held her tongue, because starting such an argument would be of no help.

“Father, please. See reason. I am already twenty, and I have no suitors here. If I were to travel west, there would be plenty of opportunities for a good marriage.” In truth, Esme thought little of marriage. She had met the men of Columbus, Ohio and had found them all severely lacking. It did not help, she supposed, that the standard she held them to was a man so unattainable as the dashing Doctor Carlisle Cullen. 

It had only been near four years since he had disappeared from her life, but the golden skinned gentle doctor had changed something inside of her, forever. He had shown her kindness, and had spoken of his time travelling through the country lending his hands wherever he was needed. He spoke on his young ward, whom he worried for constantly, and of his wish to settle down somewhere and build a family who knew nothing but love. 

It had been a childish love, but she had loved him. Still, Carlisle had talked about helping everyone, which included the poor and the outcast, the savages her father condemned. 

Esme knew that her father would continue to deny her, but she thought that maybe if she asked Michael, who had a house and family of his own, and had taken over the family’s supply store, if he might help. Just enough for a train ticket, she thought. She wouldn’t need much else. She was good with any work, and could earn enough to find herself a suitable living space with the skills she had. Then perhaps, becoming a teacher. She thought that might be something that would make her happy. 

Yet, Mister Platt blundered for a small time more, then declared the conversation over. He huffed off to the carriage, where he would no doubt find his way to a saloon and into another woman’s arms. 

Esme glared at the retreating form, and hissed a curse under her breath. Her mother, who had ears like a hound, tsked her. 

“Mama,” she began, already angry enough at her father and his treatment of her mother, “He’s not listening to reason! Flo is already halfway out the door, and Maggie would care for the both of you, and be content!” 

Esme’s mother raised her eyes from her work, and again Esme was struck by how beautiful her mother was. Warm, russet brown skin, and gleaming black eyes framed by thick lashes. Her hair was streaked with silver now, just a bit, but Esme thought it made her mother look regal. Her face was heart shaped, and her mouth a generous soft smile. 

“He is your father, dearest. We cannot disobey him, no matter how much we wish to.”

Esme stopped, her throat catching. All her life, she had thought her parents to be in love, true love. She had thought her father’s stubbornness worry for his daughter. She came to sit at her mother’s feet and wrapped her arms around her legs. 

“Mama,” she began as a pit formed in her stomach, then trailed off, not knowing what questions to ask or where to begin.

Her mother stroked her hair, the same shade, with the same soft hands, and hushed her daughter. 

“Do not worry for me child. I have lived a full and happy life, blessed with beautiful children. I am happy.” Her mother’s smile was the same it had always been, but for the first time Esme wondered if there had ever been a time where that wasn’t true.

 

Father came home earlier than expected. Esme was still consumed with worry over her mother, for there were many things she did not know. She didn’t know her mother’s mother, or father. She didn’t know how her mother had come to be in that inn so long ago, or how her father had met her. She knew her mother was from the Shawnee tribe, but she did not know where the rest of them were. 

She was interrupted from her worrying by her father’s voice, and the introduction of a man she’d seen around town before. “Esme, darling, meet Charles! Charles Evenson. He’s a good boy, does a lot of work on the river, fishing and whatnot. Say hello!” 

Esme stared at the older man, surprised by his sudden appearance. He was quite tall, and stocky. Built like a working man, she thought. She greeted him, and offered him a seat and a share of their dinner, all why wondering why her father had brought home a fisherman without any notice. 

“Charlie boy, tell me, your father owns a rather large fishing company? Isn’t that wonderful, Esme?” Esme, confused as to what this man or his father had anything to do with this family, simply nodded and hummed her agreement.

“Charlie here lost his first wife when she was very young, to a birthing fever.” Her father clucked his remorse and the large strange man bent his head. “The babe didn’t last long either.” 

“I’m so sorry,” Esme said, stricken, and wanting to comfort the man in some way. “It’s such a tragedy to lose your family in such a short period of time. I’m truly sorry.” The man, Charles, lifted his head to meet her eyes. He smiled, mournfully, just a bit. 

“Thank you, Miss Platt.” His voice was gruff, but he spoke quietly. “And thank you for the meal, as well. You’ve been an excellent hostess.” He kept his head low, and Esme found herself smiling at the odd fisherman. 

“I’m glad to have you here, Charles.” She beamed at him, and watched an answering smile bloom on his face.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> hhhhh charles bad....


	5. i've fallen out of favor

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> pre warning for implied/referenced rape and abuse. im sorry,, i tried to lessen it as much as i could

Esme Anne Evenson sat at the train station, a crumpled letter clutched in her trembling hands. Charles was due home today. The Great War, they called it, and he had gone of to fight for his country. Secretly, she had prayed to any sort of god that he would die there. 

She knew it was sinful, and blasphemous, and wrong, but Charles had not been kind to her these past few years. Oh, when they were in town, or there was company, he was sweet as could be. He called her his darling, he kissed her cheek, smiled lovingly at her. He was a good husband, despite being nearly twice her age. At least, he was good most of the time. 

He told her many times, that he hadn’t meant it. He just got so angry, he’d say. I’m sorry, he’d tell her, a handful of flowers clutched in his massive fists. It won’t happen again. 

He lied.

He had left her with more bruises than she could count, and had broken her wrist twice in the five years they had been married. His hands could be as cruel as they were gentle, she’d learned. 

It hadn’t always been so bad. He was gentle, and good, in some moments. He was a doting husband, when things were good. She had come to care for him, even if she could not love him. He was her husband, and she had made sacred vows. She did love him, in some way. She had to. 

She couldn’t remember when the rage had started, or when she became the focus of his anger. But it had, and she did. Three years into her marriage, in a fit of desperation, she had run away to her home. There, she had thrown herself at her father’s feet and begged him to take her back. She had told him of the beatings, and the rage, and the nights where he would force himself upon her. 

Her father had told her to go home, and strive to be a more dutiful wife. That if she were better, maybe then her husband wouldn’t treat her like he did. That the blame had lain within Esme, who had tried for years to know and love this strange man, who had done her best to show him kindness and be a dutiful wife. 

She wept, there, in front of the fireplace, and crumpled in on herself. She had lost some of herself that day, and there had not been much left to lose. 

Mary Ann Platt had waited until her husband left the room, and then gathered her daughter into her arms. Mary was getting older, she could see it in the crow’s feet at her eyes and the silver in her hair. Her hands ached in the cold, and she found herself getting more and more tired as the days went on. To see her daughter, her dearest Esme, broken in both spirit and body, drowned her in a sorrow she had not felt since she was taken away from her own tribe as a young girl of eleven. 

Mary took her child into her arms, and led her to the old children’s room. She set Esme down, and began to worry over her daughter’s injuries.

“Mama,” Esme rasped, her voice so small and quiet it broke Mary’s heart all over again, “I don’t. I don’t want to live like this.” Esme’s eyes had clouded with tears as she looked out the window, her eyes tracing a flock of birds that were passing by.

“Hush, my love. You will endure, you are your mother’s daughter.” Mary clutched at Esme’s hand, and waited until she had her full attention. 

“What does that mean? Has Father…” Esme’s voice trailed off, as a bolt of horror shot through her. She sat up, ready to go fight for her mother’s honor, the most alive she had felt in months. 

“No, girl. Rest. I will tell you of how I came to live in this town, and marry your father. But you must rest.” Esme stilled, and slumped back against the goose feather pillows. She kept her eyes on her mother, her beautiful strong Mama, and agreed to sit still. 

She had not been ready to hear what her mother told her.

Her mother had been sold, like chattel, to a group of trappers that were heading north, to Columbus. They had hurt her, much like Charles had hurt Esme, but she had been a young girl. 

Once they had arrived in town, tired of their plaything, they had sold her for little more than a few pennies to an innkeeper who had need of a quiet washerwoman. There, she had spent years silent, learning to speak the language of the pale faces. She had kept her silence until she had caught the eye of a man who had promised her a home, and safety, if only for her hand in marriage. 

That was how she became Mary Ann Platt.

As Esme listened to her mother speak of old horrors, she felt bild rising in her throat. Her own mother, the woman who had sung lullabies to her at night, who had taught her how to trap and fish, who had taught her the medicines of her people, had suffered. She had suffered as Esme suffered, and Esme wondered if it was a curse. 

I shall not have a daughter, she thought, for I would wish this pain on no one else. 

She stayed the night with her mother, who soothed her with gentle hands and a quiet voice, until morning light crept in through the window. 

“Charles will be expecting me.” Her voice was dull, even to her own ears. She could not find the strength within herself to leave her mother’s side, let alone get off the bed. 

“The war is coming.” Her mother’s voice was solemn, and Esme turned to look. “Perhaps you shall not be a married woman for much longer.” Mary’s eyes were hard, like steel, and Esme pressed her lips together and prayed that her mother was right.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> hhhhhhhhhhhh esme.... shes not out of the forest yet,,


	6. wish for the relief

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> uhh warnings for abuse

She watched with dull, lifeless eyes as the train pulled into the station. She was not the only wife or sweetheart left behind during the war, but she was the only one that didn’t seem to be brimming with tears and happiness. 

Esme watched as to her right, a plain pale girl with tear tracks down her face waited with baited breath to see her love come home safely. She watched, even as a youth, too young for war, she thought, ran to her and embraced her. They hugged and kissed and cried, and they were happy. 

Esme felt hollow. 

“Esme. You came.” Charles’ voice was always a shock to her, how someone who took up so much space could speak so quietly.

“Of course I did, my love. I have waited for your safe return with baited breath.” The words tasted like copper in her mouth, like blood. Like a lie. 

It seemed to please him easily enough, and she helped carry what little luggage he had to the carriage. She’d already made sure that there was a warm meal for him, and clean clothes, if he wished to bathe after his journey. She thought that might put him at ease, for a while.

The ride to the farmhouse was quiet, and Esme sat as still and pristine as she could. Like a mouse, she thought, hiding from a snake in the grass.

Luckily enough, Charles was tired. He ate, and washed himself in the kitchen while Esme tidied up around him, and changed into a sleep shirt. Esme hurried to pull the curtains closed, as it was still bright and she wished him to sleep for as long as possible. 

She left the room on silent feet, and closed the door. At the bottom of the staircase, she breathed a sigh of relief. She had made it through the first day, she could relax now. The great beast slumbered in his cave, and she, the maiden, was free to enjoy the rest of her day as if she was still alone in this house. 

She was wrong.

His screams started sometime near half past eight, and scared her so much she thought something was attacking him. She ran, silent on bare feet, to her and Charles’ room. When she threw open the door, holding a frying pan, ready to attack whoever had entered their house, she was met with a sight she had not expected. 

Charles was roaring, like a great beast, and had twisted himself up into the sheets. He thrashed, and threw himself to the floor. 

Esme quickly dropped the pan, and hurried to her husband’s side. A night terror, she thought, for he has been through much. She lifted a hand to rest upon his brow, and called his name gently. 

“Charles, Charles, my love, you are safe. You’re home, with m-” The blow hit her so hard her ears rang. She found herself facing the doorway, and it took a moment to realize that he had hit her so hard she had been thrown to the floor.

She attempted to sit up, but her head spun and her stomach churned. Esme lay her head on the floor, where it was cool. She breathed easier, laying down, not moving. Moving hurt too much. She could hear someone calling her name, but her eyelids were too heavy and the call to sleep was too strong. 

She dreamed she was a bird, and she flew away.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> i wanna cry esme im so sorry ;;;;


	7. found people to love, left people to drown

The train rattled along the tracks, and Esme Anne Evenson, or was it Platt now, kept her head down. In the seat next to her, she had a small trunk of her winter wardrobe, her ticket, a letter from her mother, and a small book of poems that Carlisle had given her before he had left Columbus. 

It was all she had, now. Well, that and the baby.

Esme had known the feeling of a child in her belly, but she had lost them all. Whether it be to Charles’ wrath, or her own mistakes, or even just God’s will, Esme had lost three children before she had even known them. 

Not this one. 

Esme had noticed the symptoms four months after Charles’ return, and fear had gripped her heart. The idea of bringing another life into that household, where Charles’ moods were as temperamental as a summer storm, had brought her to tears. The idea of Charles raising his hand to a small little figure, with her hair, or her eyes, had started a burning fire of determination within herself. 

She had gone to her mother, under the guise of visiting Florence’s first child. A girl, named Emma, and Esme had stroked her soft cheek and held her tiny hand, and promised herself she would not lose another. 

Her mother, and Thomas, had been able to scrape enough money together for a train ticket. It had just been a matter of timing, leaving when Charles wasn’t there, or at least when he wouldn’t expect her back for a while. 

But she had done it, and she had family in Wisconsin that would take her in for a bit. She knew, there she’d be safe for a while, but she also knew she’d have to move on before the baby was born. It would be much easier, to lie in another town and say her husband had died, of fever or shell shock or an number of things. She could play widow in some distant town she’d never heard of, and raise her little one. They would be safe, and happy.

She lowered her hand to her stomach, the softness that had always gathered beneath her belly button, where life grew. She was too scared to be hopeful, or happy, but she could feel little sparks of joy in her chest no matter how hard she tried to stamp them down. 

The station was not crowded, but she did not miss the small retinue that waited for her. Three women, all of varying heights but with matching button noses and freckles, waved to her with great enthusiasm. 

Esme could not stop the smile, or the laughter that bubbled up in her chest, at the sight of someone so carefree. They welcomed her with arms open, and kissed her cheeks, and wiped her tears. 

Three women, one her father’s sister, Carol Gordon, and her eldest two daughters, Helen and Ruth Anne. Carol was the tallest of the three, and her yellow hair had turned ashen long ago. She was well put together, and led Esme through the streets of Milwaukee like she owned them all. 

Helen was next, a few inches shorter than her mother, and she had the same yellow hair as Esme’s father had. Her eyes were warm, and she clung to Esme’s side and walked like she was bouncing. She pointed every little thing out to Emse, as if Esme had never been in a big city before. Esme humored her, and made the appropriate awed noises at the right times. Helen beamed, happy to be a good hostess. 

Ruth Anne, or Ruth, was the shortest of them all. Esme was no giant, but even she towered over Ruth. The girl was quite round, too. Esme thought she looked beautiful, but she knew that others probably didn’t share the same opinion. Ruth had the same temperament as Florence had, and bustled through the city like a woman on a mission. 

They called a cab, and cooed over Esme’s coloring, her thick dark hair and copper skin, how beautiful and exotic she looked. Esme grit her teeth, as she was used to this kind of attention, but she knew that her cousins meant no harm. 

She let their constant chatter soothe her, as she had missed that sort of thing. Back home, her real home, it had rarely been quiet. Flo was as loud as a foghorn, and Thomas had loved to tease her. Maggie’s laugh had tinkled in the air like bells, and Esme would follow them by the noise they made. She found it comforting. It reminded her of happier times.

“Esme, dear, this will be your room, it’s a bit small, but its stays quite warm. There’s a dresser here, and a little desk beneath the window.” Esme stared at where she would be living, hopefully, for a while. It was small, but cozy. She loved it immediately. 

“Thank you, cousin Ruth. Truly, I am beyond grateful.”

Ruth huffed, color rising in her round cheeks. “Well of course. You’re family, and it’s not so grand as a palace.” The smaller woman hurried off, muttering something about a meal to feed her with. Esme smiled, and set her things down at the foot of the bed. When she closed her eyes, she could hear the noise of the city, and below, her cousins arguing good naturedly about something or other. For the first time in years, Esme thought that maybe, she might be able to feel safe.

*

It was a normal morning. Esme had woken to an uneasy stomach, and had snuck downstairs to boil some water for tea. She had lingered by the stove, as it was still cold in the March morning air. After a cup of tea, to settle her stomach, she sat and enjoyed the quiet. Her cousins were late to rise, but Esme had grown up on a farm and had yet to shake the early rising.

Soon enough, Helen stumbled down the stairs, rubbing sleep from her eyes. She waved to Esme as she covered a large yawn. 

“I have no idea how you manage to be up this early.” Esme smiled, and turned her face to her tea cup. 

“I’ve always loved the mornings. Besides, some people are just morning people.” 

Helen hummed her agreement as she began making breakfast, porridge and eggs, if there were any left. Esme raised herself to fetch the mail and the milk, to at least be helpful. Every day, she became more and more tired. Carol had told her it would only get worse, that babies were like leeches, and had laughed. Esme thought that no matter what the baby did to her body, she would love him. Or her, but she hoped for a boy. She couldn’t help it. She missed Thomas so much, and she thought she might name him after her most beloved brother. 

Esme’s hands sifted through the mail as her mind wandered, wondering how much of herself she would see in the baby. She was ripped from her thoughts, however, when she saw a letter addressed from home, for her. 

Like a child on Christmas, she tore into the package. It had been a long time since she had heard from her mother, nearly three months. She missed her family, and hoped it would contain news of little Emma, and her Mama, and everyone else.

The letter was short. It was written in a shaky hand, because her mother had never been taught to write properly. It was simple. It made her heart drop.

Charles is coming. Run.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> i feel so bad everytime i do this to her jfjkdjsldfj oh esme i love u


	8. it causes all the grief

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> this ones unbetad im so sorry

For the second time in her life, Esme Anne Platt sat in a train bound for a town she had never been too, and she cried. She didn’t bother hiding her tears now, it was pointless. They had started when Carol had begun to scrape up every penny she could find in the tiny house to fund Esme’s ticket, and had yet to stop. 

She missed them. It had only been a few months, but her cousins had become family in that short time. She loved them, and had loved them even more when they agreed to buy her a ticket to an unknown town, secret even to them. 

Esme didn’t want to hurt anyone else. So she had kept silent, and Ruth had not pressed when she asked where to send her letters. Esme had simply smiled, and hugged Ruth. 

Now she was on a train to Ashland, Wisconsin. She’d never heard of the town, but when she bought the ticket it was the first destination to catch her eye. So she went with the gut feeling, because gut feelings weren’t traceable. 

The name on her ticket read Emma Gunther, and she knew that if Charles tried to find her through the station, he would not recognize the name. 

Esme stared out the window, at the rolling hills and farms that dotted the countryside. She could learn to be Emma Gunther, perhaps. Maybe Emma had lost her husband to the war, or maybe he had died in a terrible accident. 

Esme thought, maybe he had died from his wounds, had succumbed to shell shock, had fallen off the face of the earth. 

Either way, she would make a place or herself here. Not only for herself, she thought, but for her baby. The baby she’d spent months talking to, in the quiet hours of the night when sleep escaped her. 

She thought, this baby will be mine. Not Charles’, for Charles will not touch this baby. She was her mother’s daughter, despite growing up in the same house as her father. 

She clutched her hand over her belly, which was showing now, and promised the little creature inside of her that she would make them a home, where they could be safe. Both of them.

 

*

The man who interviewed her for the position didn’t look up from his newspaper once. Esme was dressed nicely, and washed. She was polite, and her answers were clear and concise. She had prepared for the interview, and for any subsequent questions that might follow. He asked her three. 

“Are you a learned woman, Miss Gunther?” 

“Can you read and write, and do arithmetic?”

“Will you be available to start tomorrow?”

Fifteen minutes, and Esme had a job, a roof over her head, and a small salary. She was escorted to the old schoolhouse, which wasn’t very big. Then she was lead to the even smaller apartments above it, which weren’t very warm. And finally, given a week’s pay in advance so she could buy proper supplies for herself and the school. 

She was delighted.

Esme knew this would be hard, because ten dollars wouldn’t buy much in the way of school supplies, let alone that and groceries. She didn’t know how many students she’d have, or how old they were, how much they already knew. She barely knew the lay of the town, and would most likely get lost on her way to find the supply store, or a post office. 

None of that mattered, because in front of her, Esme saw a home. It was a bit run down, and needed attention here and there, but it was hers. She had all the time in the world to build it up, to make it warm, to make it hers. 

She would raise her child here, and he would climb trees surrounding the schoolhouse, and help his mother forage for spring onions, and learn in the schoolhouse. She would teach him of her family, and one day when he asked why he didn’t have a father, she would tell him. 

She would not lie to her son, not if she could help it. But she would shelter him from such horrors, as long as she could. She wanted the baby inside of her to be happy, like Florence, Thomas, and sweetest Maggie. 

She wanted her baby to know nothing but love.

*

By the time summer rolled around, Esme was well settled. Sure, the floorboards in her bedroom creaked something awful, and the school room was always too hot or too cold, but she was a part of the town here. On a whim, she had sent Ruth a letter, simply saying she was happy, and if she could pass that along to Esme’s mother. 

But she was settled, and happy. Teaching children made her day brighter, and they all loved her dearly. The older ones offered to help her with chores, now that her belly was so big. The little ones all called her name, and told her about what they had eaten for breakfast, or what new game they were playing. 

Life wasn’t easy, but it was good. 

Georgie, a young man with a crooked nose and deep dimples, visited her every day now that school was out. He was a sweet boy, and he helped her by chopping firewood or fetching groceries. She could hardly move, now that her belly was so big. He was a sweet boy, and all he asked in return was for help with his letters.

“Pa can’t read, and I wanna make sure I can take care of him n all the little ones. My letters aren’t so good, and I wanna fix that.” Georgie told her one evening, after he had spent all afternoon filling the cracks in the walls of the building with mud, so it would keep cool in the summer and warm in the winter. 

Esme had worked with him every day, after that. She understood him, and his need to protect those he could. 

It was a Saturday, and Esme couldn’t bear the thought of being inside any longer. The sun was shining, birds were singing, and her ankles weren’t as swollen as they usually were. She decided to take a walk.

As she moved through the sparse trees, and basked in the filtered sunlight, she smiled. The due date was coming closer and closer, and by now she had a name picked out. Thomas James, for a boy, and Mary Belle, for a girl. She thought it might be a boy, however. Just a mother’s intuition. 

As she moved closer to town, she admitted that a long walk probably wasn’t in her best interest. Maybe she could sit and talk with Misses Andrews, at the supply store, and wait for the cramps to leave her. 

She’d had them before, and had nearly woken the whole neighborhood as she ran for a doctor. Misses Andrews, had stopped her, told her to sit a while, and then explained that sometimes babies like to act up, just to keep their mothers on their toes. 

The more she walked, however, the more it hurt. She pressed a hand to the top of her belly, and winced.

“My love, settle down please. Your mother is very tired. We’ll rest soon, I promise.” Esme rubbed her stomach in circles, hoping to please her baby, but the pain only got worse. She could just see the first building on the main road, and as she stumbled towards it, she felt a rush of wetness between her legs. 

Esme paled, and then she began to run.

 

*

After, after the pain and the screaming, the hours of waiting and crying, after, she held him. He was so tiny, so unbelievably perfect. He had a tuft of dark, thick hair on the top of his little head, and the tiniest fingernails she’d ever seen. Esme couldn’t stop staring at him. He was so perfect, so wonderful, and he was hers. 

He didn’t cry, which worried the doctor, but Esme knew he was just a quiet soul. Like Maggie, she thought. 

The more time she spent, just staring and stroking his soft little legs, holding his tiny perfect fingers, the more she fell in love. He was the most beautiful baby, she was sure of it. Every noise he made was precious. She spent the first night telling him of their home, and of Esme’s mother. 

She wondered at each little movement, at his dark, warm eyes blinking open. 

He was so warm, so beautiful. He’d be strong, she thought, like Michael. Kind like Thomas. Smart like Beth. Headstrong like Florence. Sweet like Margaret. 

He was her family, now. He was all she had in this little town, and even as she wept for the loss of her mother and her siblings, for her cousins, she knew that life with little Thomas James would more than make up for it. 

*

It happened in the night. 

She hadn’t been awake, she’d rested next to him in the small bed. Before she fell asleep, she’d told him stories her mother used to tell her, and all about what wonderful lives they were going to live. 

The doctor, an older man without much experience in childbirth, had told her he sent for an old friend to check up on her boy, just to be safe. 

She hadn’t been worried.

She should have been. 

It’s dark, impossibly dark when she opens her eyes. She knows before she’s even fully awake that something is wrong. She takes a breath, tries to push the feeling away, when she hears it.

Or, doesn’t hear it.

Two days, two whole days and she had been attuned to he breaths of her child. Esme’s whole world had resided in the uneven hitches of his chest, of his breath.

It’s silent. 

She doesn’t move, for a moment, thinking that it’s just a nightmare. That she’ll wake up, and the doctor will declare her son a healthy baby, and then they could go home. 

She waits

and waits

and waits.

He’s cold. 

Not truly cold, like ice. But he isn’t warm. He’s cool, like the bedsheets. Still. Unmoving. 

Esme feels for his little hand, his little arm, his little chest, and 

Stops.

She waits, and waits, praying for a heartbeat. Begging. 

Please, she thinks. I’ll do anything. I’ll go back to Charles. I’ll suffer every pain imaginable. I’ll do anything.

Anything. Please. 

She doesn’t move until morning.

 

*

Esme Anne Platt sits, in a desk in her schoolroom, unable to climb the stairs. Up the stairs, there is a little crib with little clothes and little blankets. Up the stairs is the home she built for herself and her son. 

He’s buried, now. Under an old oak, that had been the biggest tree in the forest for miles. 

His perfect little hands, cold. He will rot, under that oak. He will never know the warmth of the sun or the joy of a first snow, he will never laugh or dance or sing or cry, because her baby is dead. 

He’s dead. 

Esme doesn’t know how long she’s been sitting in the same spot for, but there is a distant ache in her belly. If she closes her eyes, she can almost pretend he’s still safe, tucked away inside her where no one can ever hurt him. 

“Miss… Miss Gunther?” It takes her a moment to shake herself from her stupor, and when she turns, it’s little Georgie. 

He looks uncomfortable. Sad. He’s also holding a letter. 

“It’s, it’s got your name on it. We figured. Well. You’re the only Esme round here.” He walks through the room like he’s walking on glass. When he sets down the letter, her father’s words stare back at her. 

“Thank you.” Her voice is so unused it sounds more like a croak than any real words. Georgie takes this as an opportunity to go and darts away. The screen door bangs behind him.

She wonders if he’s afraid that death will catch, follow him home and take someone he loves, too. 

Her hands shake, not from fear, but from exhaustion as she opens the letter. 

She hasn’t slept since she woke up to her dead son. 

Esme, it reads, it’s time to come home. Your husband misses you dearly, and your family needs you in this time of grief. 

Esme wonders how they know of her grief, all the way in Columbus. 

Your mother, she reads, then stops. She starts again, quietly wondering if this is all some horrible joke. 

Esme,  
It’s time to come home. Your husband misses you dearly, and your family needs you in this time of grief. Your mother, may God bless her soul, passed in the night. It was quick, and painless, the doctors assured me. We need you home.   
Father

Esme stares, and stares and stares until the words bleed together and she doesn’t have to see it. She stands, suddenly. She doesn't know where, or why, but her feet carry her out of the screen door and away. 

Away from the little schoolhouse, with its little cradle, and its little blankets. 

She walks, until she can breathe, until she cant feel her legs, until she comes to an end. 

A cliff, rocky and steep, with a valley below. It must have held a river, once. Now, it’s just rocks and mud and dirt. 

Empty, barren.

She grips the letter tighter in her fist. She inhales as the breeze brushes over her face, like a caress. It smells like rain, she thinks. 

She falls.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> im so sorry,,,

**Author's Note:**

> the song is by florence + the machine,,


End file.
